Harvest for the Devil
by Philo0sophia
Summary: "A day of battle is a day of harvest for the devil." When Roy is drafted for the war, he leaves behind his fiancée with her best friend, and learns the hard way that there are other consequences of war. Rated M for strong language. AU.


**November 10, 1939**

Roy took a deep breath and shouldered his duffle bag, giving one last look back at his fiancée, Pam, who stood as close as she could, looking anxious and distressed, but she managed a small smile when she caught him looking. With a final half-hearted smile and wave, he prepared to step up the walkway to the plane, when he saw a familiar movement in the corner of his eye, and he whipped his head around, catching sight of a tall, lanky figure with a slight limp and floppy brown hair.

Jim Halpert. He would recognize him anywhere, even without the limp. Of course he would come over. _To see Pam, not me_, he thought wryly, a little jealous, but quickly banished the feeling. Who gave her the ring that cost more then he could even afford? Definitely not Jim, or his ass would have been kicked off.

Roy stopped walking, causing the attendant to scowl angrily and open his mouth to tell him off. Roy brushed him aside easily (he was probably about two heads taller) and cupped a hand around his mouth, hollering as loud as he could, "Hey, Halpert!"

Years of playing football had finally paid off, and, despite the crowded airport, his voice carried clearly to Jim. Jim, startled, turned to the source of the noise with a look of fear, but immediately saw it was Roy, and he waved absentmindedly with a small nod.

Satisfied he had gotten his attention, Roy gestured to Pam. Jim cocked his head in confusion and furrowed his eyebrows, obviously not seeing Pam. For all he knew, Roy could be telling him to go mug a random person, knowing his temper. Sighing in frustration, Roy mouthed Pam's name. "Keep an eye on her, all right?" he yelled.

Jim watched him for a while before it finally clicked, and he grinned widely. He gave a thumbs up and another nod, and began limping his way towards Pam, moving quickly even with his crippled leg.

Roy grunted, satisfied that she would be in good enough hands, but _definitely _not legs. At least he won't have to worry about her cheating on him. Smiling slightly, he walked up towards the attendant, trying hard not to look back, and maybe just break his own leg. _Lucky bastard_, he thought. _He'll never have to fight thanks to that damn leg_.

The flight attendant, dressed in his army uniform, took in the tall, bulky frame, and the slight bulge of a beer gut, followed by the rancid smell of stale alcohol. Holding his breath (he really wasn't paid enough for this job), he shifted his clipboard into a more comfortable position and mumbled, "Full name?"

Roy blinked, trying to decipher what he said, and then replied, "Roy Anderson."

The attendant gave an exasperated sigh, before attempting to look Roy straight in the eye, despite the size difference. "I need your goddamn full name, kid. How else am I supposed to do my fucking job if you don't tell me your fucking middle name?"

Roy yawned slightly, rolled his eyes. Short tempers. Finally, someone he can relate to. He shrugged and replied, "I don't have a middle name."

This was the last straw for the attendant. He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure, breathing in and out as Roy watched in amusement. A few minutes later, he threw down his clipboard and stepped closer until they were eye to, well, shoulder. If looks were lasers, Roy was sure his shoulder would be pretty much be gone.

"You know what?" he breathed. "Fine. You win. Don't tell me your fucking middle name. Great. Then it'll be as if you never registered to get drafted in this fucking war, and you'll be put in fucking jail and you'll have to pay fifty-fucking-thousand dollars. And when the fucking Germans come over to bomb the shit out of you when they're finished kicking all of the Russian and French and British asses, you'll know that this is all of your fucking fault." Chest heaving erratically from his outburst, the man glared at him for a little longer to make his point clear, before grabbing his fallen papers. _All in one breath. Nice._

Roy sighed, knowing he'd lost the battle. "Middle name's Eugene."

The man nodded, and marked something off on his clipboard. "Roy Eugene Anderson. Now that wasn't so hard, wasn't it? Pleased to meet you." he held out a hand, seemingly forgetting what had just happened. Confused, Roy reached out and shook his hand, waiting for something to happen, like him getting stabbed in the gut. Or at least the hand.

The man grinned, but the smile was strained and didn't reach his eyes. "I haven't properly introduced myself, haven't I? I'm Staff Sergeant Arthur DeFranzo, and I'm going to be your drill instructor at Fort Benning." The Sergeant let go of Roy's hand and shifted his shoulders slightly, displaying a plethora of ribbons and medals on his side. "I'm looking forward to training _you_." he said, placing heavy emphasis on the last word, before giving him a not-so-friendly slap on the shoulder.

Roy faltered. _Shit_.

* * *

Panting at his effort, Jim made his way towards where Roy had pointed, pushing past people, manners be damned. As he got neared, he smiled at the sight of her slightly curled hair, but quickly wiped it off. _She's engaged. You're crippled. Not the best couple in the world._

After another few minutes of shuffling, cursing, and rough pushing from impatient boarders, he reached her, wiping the sweat off his face with sleeve of his coat. As stealthily as he could, he reached out and tapped her shoulder, smiling widely as she jumped, startled with her bright green eyes wide.

The frightened look faded away as she saw his face and she smiled back, lighting up her entire face. "What are you doing here?" she asked, obviously excited to see him.

Jim shrugged, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his stomach as he watched her face. "Apparently, I'm supposed to look after you." he said indifferently. "Y'know, make sure you don't spend too much money. You want a honeymoon with Roy...right?" he asked, winking suggestively.

A faint red blossomed over Pam's cheeks as she blushed, looking down at her shoes. "We still need to get married..."

Sniffling, she raised her head to gaze longingly at the plane Roy had just boarded. "I mean, we still have to set the date for our wedding, and that means I have to wait until he gets back from the war alive..." her voice faltered helplessly, and tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes.

Gently, he gathered her into his arms and hugged her, making sure to leave his broken leg out of the situation. "Don't worry. He'll be back. You'll see. The war'll be over in a flash." he whispered, even though he knew his words were pointless, because she would still worry no matter what he said, and he knew that this war wasn't going to let Roy off easily. Pam hesitated, torn between what to do, and then buried her face in his shoulder, shaking as sobs racked her body.

And Jim could practically feel his heart breaking because he knew he'll never have her, but his job (unemployment did wonders to his prioritizing abilities) was to take care of Pam, and dammit, he was going to even if it caused him mental – and maybe physical, he thought, glancing at his leg – pain. Forget about what he felt about her.

With a roar, the plane took off with engines thundering, amid cheers and whistling. Someone even pulled out a bottle of champagne, and the celebrations intensified, women hugging each other, children watching the plane over their heads in wonder and admiration.

But Pam cried only harder.

* * *

**Enjoy, if you can. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but please keep in mind that this is my first attempt writing on this website. Thanks.**

**PS: For those who really haven't figured out yet, this takes place during World War II.  
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